


another go

by orphan_account



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Wholesome Joseph, at the beginning tho - Freeform, miss me with that emotionally abusive Joseph bs, tags will be updated as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Everything is peachy fucking keen, Joseph. I don’t care that you abandoned your kids for some pity party you threw yourself for the past four days, I don't care that Mary is M.I.A, and I don't care that you're sorry! All I care about is figuring out how to use your fucking washing machine!"OR: The fic where Mary disappears, Joseph locks himself in his room, and you have to piece the Christiansen family back together like any good neighbor would do. The only problem is, you become one of those pieces.(this is lowkey a bad summary but this is just a wholesome way to tie up the good ending for Joseph without you being a homewrecker, and everyone comes out a better person)





	another go

“And I was like ‘why are you so obsessed with me’, and he was all like ‘because you’re my wife’!” Mary Christiansen laughed, slapping a well-manicured hand on her thigh as she threw her head back. Robert Small and you did the same, howling with laughter at a story that was only funny because of how drunk all of you were.

“What a fucking loser!” Robert called, clutching his stomach as he threw an arm around Mary’s shoulders. You laughed along, wiping away tears from your eyes at how hard you were laughing. Joseph really was a loser.

The three of you were on your way back from another successful night at Jim and Kim’s. The whiskey was great, as usual, the wine was superb, as usual, and you even scored a hot guy’s number. The only problem was he had a wedding ring on, and you were not about to almost ruin another marriage.

A pang of guilt spread through you as you stopped laughing, looking at Mary and Robert. You thought about how the three of you basically have become an ‘I Hate Joseph Christiansen’ club, for the three of you have been screwed over by Joseph in some shape or form. It still made you wonder why Mary was so… comfortable, befriending and spending time with two men she knew her husband slept with. Why did she stay? Was it for her children? Could she not hold down a job?

All these questions raged through your mind as your trio approached the cul-de-sac, all the lights in the houses turned off. It made sense, considering that when you left the bar, the gigantic clock hanging above the doorway said it was 3:06am. Robert and Mary were still laughing, but most likely about another joke the duo made on Joseph’s behalf.

The deep thoughts on the fabric of Mary’s marriage seemed to have sobered you up, the idea of making fun of Joseph no longer appealing. You knew, deep down, he wasn’t a bad guy. He just couldn’t. The moments at the dance, the bake sale, and the yacht all proved that there was a good guy in him. You just wished you could pull it out of him.

Wow, way to make it sound sexual, dude, you thought to yourself as you approached Robert’s house, now lagging behind the duo. You caught up to them, hearing them animatedly (and drunkenly) talk about something.

“Mary, I’m not gonna post-game with you at your place. Post-gaming isn’t even a thing, it’s only pre-gaming!” Robert insisted, fishing out his keys from his jacket pocket. “Plus, we’ve been at the bar for hours now. Betsy must be starving.”

Mary rolled her eyes, placing one hand on her hip. “Fine, loser. The newbie and I will post-game.” She turned to you, her eyes glazed over as she raised an eyebrow. “You coming, sailor?”

You wanted to say no, to say that you don’t step foot into the house of a couple you tried to split up. However, your head was nodding, and Mary was clapping her hands together. “Yipee! At least one of the dads in this neighborhood has some balls!” She grabbed your hand, pulling you in the direction of her house. “Bye, Bobert!” You looked back, seeing him wave at the two of you. You half-heartedly wave back, turning back when Mary tugged harshly on your hand.

“Ow, watch it! I won’t be able to do shots with you anymore if you pull off my hand!” You hissed, not wanting to yell and possibly wake up the neighbors. You wouldn’t want them seeing you like this.

Mary immediately loosened her grip, now lightly grasping your hand. You were now at her doorstep, watching as she pulled her keys out of her bra. How she was able to keep them there and don’t stab her boobs, you’ll never know.

Once she unlocked her door, she led you to her kitchen, still as impeccably decorated as the rest of the house. This time, however, there wasn’t flower everywhere, Christie wasn’t running around, and you weren’t awkwardly flirting with Joseph.

You watched her open up one of the higher up cupboards, containing all of her booze. It was certainly out of reach for the twins (and Crish, for obvious reasons) but with a few more inches, Chris could get to that cupboard. You shook your head at the thought of Chris drinking alcohol to focus on the matter at hand; you drinking alcohol. Mary somehow pulled out two wine glasses out of thin air, pouring herself and you a glass. Once she was done, she slid yours over to you, some wine sloshing out of the glass. You wanted to clean it up, but you knew it would dampen the mood.

“So, how the kids been?” You tried, taking a sip of whatever wine she gave you. You didn’t know wine all that well, but you knew this one tasted more fruity than usual.

Mary made a face, waving her glass at you. “Don’t kill the vibe, man! I don’t wanna talk about kids when I’m drunk!” She was slurring her words almost aggressively, knitting her eyebrows together as she leaned onto the kitchen island. “Let’s talk gossip. Have you fucked any of the dads yet? Besides, you know, my husband?”

You flinched at her words, cautiously putting your glass down. How can she be so frank about this? “N-no, Mary. I haven’t.”

“Really?” She questioned, shooting up. “Not even Craig? Not even back in college?”

“Craig was very much straight in college. I’m pretty sure he still is,” You denied, staring quizzically at her as she took a long swig from her glass.

“Well, he could have fooled me. I don’t know a single straight guy who is over forty and still has a slit in their eyebrow,” Mary testified, flipping some hair over her shoulder. “Also his ass is way too nice to not be-”

Before she could finish, a new voice interrupted her, a soft ‘Mommy’ coming from nowhere. As you jumped but stayed relatively calm, Mary screamed, dropping the wine glass she had in her hand onto the floor. You quickly went over to her side of the island, wanting to know who came into the kitchen.

You were surprised to find Christie, clad in pink footie pajamas that now had a huge wine stain on it. Glass was scattered by her feet, your dad reflexes kicking in as you immediately stepped over them, picking her up and into your arms.

“Christie! What are you doing up?” You asked, your voice quivering as you tried to stay calm. Mary looked furious, her headband falling onto her forehead.

“What the fuck are you doing up, Christie?” The moment the words left Mary’s mouth, a look of horror washed over you and Mary. You felt Christie tense up in your arms, affected by her mom just cursing at her. You put a hand on the back of her head, urging her to put her face in your neck as you stroked her hair. You glared at Mary, mouthing ‘What is your problem?’ at her.

She didn’t respond. She was looking only at Christie, her ruined pajamas, and the glass shattered around the three of you. It looked like she was about to say something, but her face suddenly turned green, a hand clapping over her mouth as she ran off. You wanted to call out to her, urge her to take care of her child that you are holding, but you knew it would be better if Christie didn’t see her in that state.

Instead, you carefully walked through the kitchen, carefully placing Christie on the counter, far away from the broken glass. You took a good look at her, checking her over to see if any glass was stuck to her clothes. She stared back at you blankly, her crystal blue eyes holding no emotion as you held onto her shoulders.

“Christie, you scared your mommy and me! What are you doing up this late?” You asked, trying to sound light-hearted. You fell flat, however, for you knew your voice sounded distressed.

“I saw Mommy go out when I was trying to get water. I wanted to make sure she came back,” She whispered, the sound of worry evident in her voice. When she was with Christian, she sounded monotone and creepy. When she was by herself, she was lively and giggly. Now, she was scared and quiet. Your heart broke a little.

“Sweetie, you’ve been up this whole time?” You asked, knowing that Mary arrived at the bar at 11pm. It’s sometime after 3am, meaning Christie has been waiting for four hours. Your heart broke more.

She nodded, looking down as she starting toying with her hair. It was only then did you realize that only half of her hair was braided, the other half down in waves. On further inspection, you saw how the braid was sloppily done, hair sticking out everywhere from the main form. Since neither you or Alex had long hair ever, you had to take hair care classes when Amanda came into your life. Before she started wearing it short, you were constantly putting her hair in intricate braids and styles.

“What happened to your hair, Christie?” You questioned, softly pulling the hairband off of the braided side. You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room, focusing on another subject while you try to figure out what are you going to do with your neighbor’s child who has wine all over herself at 3am.

“I got super nervous when she still wasn’t home again, so I started playing with my hair like she always does. I’m not good at it, though…” She trailed off, sounding sad over her braid. “I get confused easily with my hair. Like, why is my hair curly when Mommy takes them out in the morning, but when I get to school, it’s straight?” She asked, her adorable confusion bringing a smile to your face. You carefully ran your fingers through her hair, the long blond locks coming undone as you chuckled.

“Because, you have thick, pretty hair. It’s hard for people with long hair to keep curls in their hair during the day,” You explained, immediately pulling away when her face showed a little discomfort at the detangling.

“Where do the curls go then? Do they go to someone else? Can you transfer curls from one person to the other?” She asked, her voice perking up as she continued to ask questions. She no longer seemed fazed by what just happened with her mom, focusing on you and your Infinite Hair Knowledge.

“No, sweetie. Curls don’t go to another person. Humidity and curls don’t go well together. Can I get you to turn around so I can braid your hair?” You started, asking the child to move. She complied quickly, immediately turning around and looking up to the ceiling. You smiled again. She was too cute.

“Amanda used to have really curly hair as a baby. Like, ringlet curls. Do you know who Shirley Temple is?” You asked, sectioning off her hair. You ignored the voice in your mind that reminded you how weird it was that you were braiding your neighbor’s ten-year-old daughter’s hair at 3am.

“Yeah! My dad orders them all the time!” She giggled, obviously thinking of the drink and not the child star. Nonetheless, you laughed along.

“Well, Amanda’s hair always turned wavy once she got outside. We would try to make it stay curly, Alex and I, but we didn’t want to use hairspray on our four year old daughter,” You laughed, remembering how frustrated the two of you were that her curls never stayed put. “So, she eventually wanted to cut it all off. We didn’t want her to, so we reached a compromise: shoulder length. To this day, she still has her hair cut that length, but she always wears it in a bun or ponytail.”

“Amanda is super pretty,” Christie commented as you started french braiding one side of her hair. You smiled, your heart fluttering at the compliment meant for your pride and joy.

“Thank you. I know her ego just got inflated ten-fold,” You joked, Christie laughing.

“Do you think I could be as pretty as she is, Amanda’s Dad?” She asked, looking back at you.

“Of course, Christie! You’re already the prettiest ten year old on the block!” You responded immediately, mentally checking that none of the other kiddos in the cul-de-sac was ten. Daisy was eleven, right?

“Thank you, Mr. Amanda’s Dad,” Christie smiled, turning back to let you resume braiding. Until you finished, the two of you remained silent. The only sound in the kitchen was your fingers moving along her hair. Once you were done, you motioned for her to turn around, the blonde girl doing so promptly. Even though you haven’t braided hair in a long time, you would say her hair is pretty cute.

“So…” You trailed off, not sure on what to do. Should she take a bath? Should you find her some new clothes? Should you go see where Mary went off to?

“I feel sticky now,” Christie mumbled, looking down at the wine stain. Bath time it is.

“Okay, well, can you wash yourself?” You asked, scratching behind your neck. It was a nervous tick that you undoubtedly got from Craig.

“Yes, I can! I’m an independent girl!” She declared, puffing her chest out. You laughed, before saluting to her. She giggled, swigging her legs from the counter.

“Okay, well you can go take a shower, and I’ll go find you some clothes. How does that sound?” You asked, bringing her down to the floor. She started jumping immediately, her fiery energy back. She was nodding her head, a grin on her face.

“Follow me,” She said, extending her arm out palm out. You did, despite your hand being much bigger than her hands. She immediately pulled you out of the kitchen, running through the living room with you hot on her heels. She took you upstairs, a place you have never been before.

It was rather simple; it was like one large, long hallway with doors every couple of feet. It looked like there was a room for every family member, for their were six doors. However, soon Christie dragged you to the first door on your left. She opened it, revealing that it was the bathroom. A bathroom that looked very hectic. There was one long slab of marble with four sinks in it, all cramped together and products overflowing everywhere. Behind the counter was the bath, a pale pink shower curtain concealing it. You could only imagine how hectic it was in the morning. You shuddered at the thought of the four Christiansen children being teenagers and sharing one bathroom.

She let go of your hand, turning around. “My room is the door that has Christie in pretty blue letters. My dad did it, but I helped, too.” She smiled, pointing to her left. You turned, looking down the hallway to, in fact, see a door that said ‘Christie’ in very nice, fancy calligraphy. Before you could look back at her, she was slamming the bathroom door in your face.

“Well then,” You muttered, turning to the direction of the door. You slowly made your way over, not wanting to wake anyone. Crish was (hopefully real and) sleeping, and you knew how sensitive babies were when they slept.

Eventually, you made it to her door, opening it as softly as you could. Unsurprisingly, her room was an array of cotton candy blue and pink; a blue-and-pink-striped rug, blue bed cover with pink pillows, an array of blue and pink stuffed animals and toys throughout her room. Her room looked so… normal. Not like if she was one-half of a creepy set of twins who quoted ‘The Shining’ every time they talked.

You strode over to her dresser, set low to the ground for obvious reasons. You crouched down, looking through the first drawer. It seemed to be an array of graphic tees, most of them Christian-related. A few from mission trips, a few from some church events, and a few funny ones. (You have to admit, ‘My favorite car is a convertible’ from one of her mission trip shirts was a good pun. Joseph probably made that one up.)

You looked into the next drawer, seeing several bottoms. You continued looking, eventually finding the drawer that looks like children’s pajamas. You pulled out an almost identical pair of footie pajamas, with the same colors and pattern on it. You sighed, folding it gently over your forearm and closing the drawer. You looked around her room for a place to sit, deciding you were too big for the little table set up she had in the left corner of her room. You would feel weird sitting on her bed, so you decided on the safest bet; the floor.

It was then, when you sat down finally, that exhaustion hit you. You wanted to curl up on her nice carpet, go to sleep, and forget this night ever happened. You wished that you would have agreed with Robert and went home, but now, there you were, in the room of the daughter of a married man you slept with. You braided her hair, you helped her get cleaned up, and you were now waiting to put her to sleep. And it was some time between 3am and 4am.

You didn’t have the energy to pull out your phone, slowly letting your head rest against the wall of Christie’s room. Letting your eyes shut for a few seconds wouldn’t hurt, right? You’ve done it before, and 3% of the time it doesn’t end with you falling asleep, so maybe this will be that 3%.

~~~

It wasn’t the 3%.

In an instant, you felt something poking at your face, the pressure waking you up. You jolted up, scared that you were somehow in trouble. Once your vision came into focus, you saw Christie giggling above you, holding a hand over her mouth to keep her laughs quiet. You sighed, rubbing at your neck.

“You scared me, Christie,” You defended yourself, reaching over to where you put her pajamas. When you felt nothing there, you looked at her, seeing that her hair was damp and her pajamas didn’t have a stain on them anymore. Her braids were still in tact, which was nice.

“You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you. But then you started snoring,” She bursted into quiet giggles again, pointing at your shoulder. You looked down, seeing - ugh, dammit - a huge wet spot on your shirt, undoubtedly drool.

“I’m an old man, we have to snore! I bet your dad snores worst!” You protested, smiling when Christie rapidly shook her head yes. You hoisted yourself up, only groaning a moderate amount as every vertebra in your spine cracked. Wait until your chiropractor heard about this. “Well, I’m gonna go now. You okay to go to bed on your own?”

“Yes, Mr. Amanda’s Dad,” Christie quipped, grinning up at you. You could tell by how she kept raising herself up onto her toes that she still had lots of energy, but you were too tired to be worried about it. That was Joseph’s job to control his energetic daughter.

  
“Kay, champ. See ya later,” You smiled, raising your fist for her to bump. She looked confused at first, before eagerly meeting her first with yours. You smiled yet again, sluggishly moving towards her door. You didn’t look back, not wanting to be tempted to goof around with her until morning came.

The next couple of minutes went by in a blur; you were stumbling out of her room, down the stairs, and out of the Christiansen house all together. It took you awhile to make it to your own house (you thought Brian’s house was yours for awhile, it was a miracle he didn’t hear you jamming your key into his door knob) but you did, eventually. You were out before your head even hit the couch, sleep overcoming you in an instant.

~~~

The weekend that followed was very uneventful. You hadn’t heard from Mary or Robert since last Friday night, and you weren’t entirely upset by that. After reflecting on what happened between you, Mary, and her daughter, you thought a break from booze would be good for your little group.

So, instead of bar hopping all weekend, you were binge-watching shows. Netflix shows, in particular. Amanda called you yesterday morning, gushing about how cool the promotional posters for Stranger Things were, and how it inspired her to create her own series of 80s-styled movie posters. You tried to keep up, but you never watched Stranger Things. You mainly bought Netflix for Amanda to enjoy, and enjoy she did. She was constantly watching movies and TV shows on it, while you can’t remember if you have even watched a season of a provided TV show.

Well, before today, at least.

It was late Sunday night, and you were almost done with the show. You were barely comprehending the plot; something about the Upside Down? A girl obsessed with waffles? You must admit, you mainly thought about how horrible it would be if Amanda had gone missing like the little boy in the show did, and how you would try to rescue her.

You kept trying to actually focus on the story, so this could become another subject that you two could talk about. With her now in college, it seemed like you were no longer involved in her life as much. Obviously, that would happen. It was inevitable for a parent to slowly be phased out of their kid’s life when they grow up.

It still hurt, though. 

It was nearing midnight when you heard a knock on your door. You stopped paying attention to the show a long time ago, your book of word jumbles calling out to you. You almost wanted to ignore it, knowing it must be Robert. He was constantly pulling you outside of your house at most random hours of the night, forcing you to go drink with him and Mary.

You got concerned when the knocking became one long stream of knocks. Robert usually had a short little rhythm to announce his arrival. He never knocked more than four times. This has been constant for the past fifteen seconds.

You get up cautiously, fear racking through your body. What if it was the police? What if something happened to one of your neighbors? What if something happened to Amanda? You rushed to the door at that thought, swinging it up to see…

“Christie? Christian?” You exclaimed, the twins staring up at you with wide, offset eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this is enough to entice you guys to come back! I really wanted to add to the shortage of joseph fics that did not 1) fetishize his relationship with religion 2) make him emotionally and physically abusive and 3)have him fucking Robert. This is going to be a long ride-ish, with some angst and slow burn, but a lot of fluff. Lots. This is also a stepping stone for me to write other Joseph fics, because whenever I have an idea of a fic with him and me, I always have this to be the past we had to have a real relationship. I aint tryna be his side hoe. So, join me on a journey of self-acceptance, self love, and self help. Hope you enjoy!


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